There’s always a certain poetic chaos to a Mark Anthony Stephens post. The random capitalization, the missing punctuation, and the meandering grammar feel like reading a refrigerator magnet poem written by someone under spiritual duress.

Let’s take this masterpiece:

“There has not ever been one day that I don’t think about you both . My Boys Stephens for life Home team! I love you both so much . I remember the times i would go to lunch with both my boys i would bring liam subway he loved the BMT and nate loved pizza i would take nate to the mall we would look at the video games as always and liam I would bring him his Juice. These two have imprinted on my soul!”

“Imprented” on his soul, he says — which, we assume, is somewhere between imprinted and indentured.
But let’s pause on what he’s actually bragging about here: pulling his son out of school to go “look at video games.”

Mark, that’s not parenting — that’s truancy with a side of pepperoni.

And yes, this is the same Mark who denied under oath that he ever removed Nathan from school during Melissa’s parenting time. Yet here he is, proudly memorializing it in public like it’s a Norman Rockwell painting.
This post alone is a self-own — a digital confession wrapped in bad grammar.

There’s a reason, after all, why Mark no longer holds educational decision-making rights for his children. When your parenting philosophy involves skipping class to play at the mall, your priorities are pretty transparent. Or, as he might write it, “transperant in my spirt for the lords joy.”

And this “imprinted soul” he speaks of? It hasn’t managed to lift a finger — or a pen — to do the actual work required to see his kids again. Because let’s be real: if your love language is Facebook posts instead of court compliance, your soul might be imprinted, but your effort is nonexistent.

Meanwhile, the real panic his behavior caused was never poetic. When you remove a child from school or daycare without notifying the custodial parent, that’s not “a sweet lunch memory.” That’s a 911 moment — canceled medical appointments, frantic phone calls, and terrified parents wondering where their child has gone.

So here’s to Mark — forever the tragic hero of his own poorly proofread story. The man who lost custody, credibility, and coherence… all in the same sentence.

The Delusion of the “Good Dad Moment”

What’s almost impressive — in a darkly comedic way — is the sincerity of it all. Mark isn’t being ironic. He’s not aware that he’s just confessed to something most parents would never brag about. No, he’s posting it with the absolute conviction that this memory somehow cements him as Father of the Year.

He writes about skipping school and hanging out at the mall as if it’s a hallmark of connection — a symbol of love and freedom. But it’s not love; it’s avoidance with a smile. It’s the behavior of a man who mistakes instant gratification for parenting.

A healthy father understands that consistency, structure, and boundaries build trust. Mark, on the other hand, genuinely believes that taking a child out of school to “look at video games” is a bonding moment that proves his devotion. He’s equating irresponsibility with intimacy — and that’s where his delusion shines brightest.

To him, it’s not neglect; it’s nostalgia. It’s not a red flag; it’s a highlight reel. He’s so detached from the reality of parenting that he can’t even see how publicly documenting this makes the exact opposite point he thinks it does.

Mark’s idea of “good fathering” lives entirely in the moment — never in the consequence. He’s the kind of dad who wants the movie trailer version of fatherhood: a couple of cute scenes, some sentimental narration, and no storyline that involves accountability, effort, or self-awareness.

Because in his mind, if it looks good on Facebook, it must be good fathering.